Hekatah
by Min Daae
Summary: Dorothea summons Daemon to meet Hekatah for the first time; tensions are high between the two women and Daemon does not enjoy being caught between them. ONESHOT.


Daemon stood in front of Dorothea's door for a moment too long before raising a hand to knock.

The door took a moment longer to open, a clear sign that she was unhappy with him. Or else that – ah. The psychic scents washed over him. Dorothea's and another, that he recognized from…somewhere. But who could say where? The two women sat in front of the fire sipping wine, Dorothea with one arm around one of her toys. The other woman was alone. Her sleek black hair spilled over her back, dressed in a rich gown, smiling. Her psychic scent was _wrong _and he resisted the urge to back away immediately. She stank of fresh blood. And stood, gracefully. Daemon didn't miss the slight disdain as she addressed Dorothea without looking at her. "So. This is the boy?"

Dorothea looked annoyed. "Yes, that's the boy. Daemon, Hekatah asked to meet you. She's an honored guest." He stared at her, cold and wary. "So I want you to treat her well. _Very _well."

"Now, Dorothea," the strange woman, Hekatah, said mildly, in a vaguely scolding voice, "There's no need for that. I'm sure the boy will be quite accommodating of his own will, won't you?"

He just stared at her, coldly. There was something about her that made him want to snarl. Something – sinister, nasty. Sneaking.

"Daemon!" Dorothea's voice had the snap of warning. Hekatah just laughed. The sound was as repulsive as her psychic scent.

"My goodness, but he takes after his father."

He stiffened, and so did Dorothea, suddenly listening. "You know my father?"

"Oh yes, quite well. I haven't spoken with him in years, but you do look so alike." She strolled over, circling around him. Like a vulture, and he tensed, in a slightly different way. "My, my. Wouldn't he be proud of you." There was something biting in her voice. He heard the growl start in the back of his throat.

"Hekatah," warningly, from Dorothea. Hekatah judiciously ignored her.

"Such a beauty, though. More beautiful than your father was even in his prime. Daemon, that's your name?"

"Daemon Sadi," curtly, said Dorothea.

Hekatah's lips curved in a smile as her hand snaked out and caught his chin, drawing his eyes up to meet hers. Her touch was cool and he tried to tug away. "Yes, so beautiful. You've made something here, Dorothea." She sounded distinctly amused, and her nails bit into his cheeks, turning his head to the side, then to the other. "A true masterpiece."

"Thank you." Acidly, and Hekatah seemed not to notice. Daemon could see the satisfaction in her eyes, though.

"Mmm. Yes. And you will be a delicious man when you're grown, won't you?"

He tried again to tug away. "Let me go," he snapped, putting bite in his voice.

Hekatah let him go and he backed away immediately. "And the little cat has claws! How _delightful._"

"Dorothea," Daemon said flatly, keeping his eyes on Hekatah. "I was in the middle of something. If you would allow me."

"Yes," irritably, "Go, Daemon."

"Dorothea! You promised me an afternoon with the boy."

"I changed my mind." Snapped. "Now _go, _Daemon."

He bowed, shortly, turned to go. Just before he closed the door, he heard Hekatah titter. "Dorothea! How long have you been bedding him? Such a _pretty _little morsel…"

He shut the door, firmly, and left. Now he knew her scent. He would avoid her. But there were things to think on, too. She knew his father. Well, clearly. And Dorothea didn't like her, but they were clearly allies…

Daemon forgot everything when he got back to his room. The bell was ringing wildly and a pang in his groin reminded him that someone thought he wasn't moving quickly enough. In a foul mood, he strode off, feeling the edges of his temper scrape raw against the walls.

And he looked like his father…Dorothea didn't want him to know that. A memory fluttered, just out of reach. He snatched for it and it was gone. His mood grew darker.

_Your father would be proud of you…_

What father would be proud of a son like him? _What father _could abandon a son to this fate?

"Daemon!" It was Kartane, running to catch up with him. Little cousin Kartane. Naïve cousin Kartane. "Daemon, wait up!"

"Go away, Kartane," he snapped, not caring if he sounded harsh. "I'm busy."

Kartane slowed, stopped. "Daemon?"

He softened his voice, deliberately. "I'll talk to you." Another pang. He lengthened his stride. "Later."

The claws slipped out of their sheaths. The Sadist stretched, stirred.


End file.
